Bad Luck Is Putting It Nicely
by rosdrise
Summary: Oh look, they actually did hump the furniture at Pi Sig parties. Wonderful. Maybe if Mac stopped wishing to not run in to someone she'd actually finally stop running in to them
1. Chapter 1

It wasn't so much that she hated Veronica…

No, she did hate Veronica.

Well, not so much 'hate' as she was angry with'…

Pissed off at…

Furious-

Ah, hell, she hated her.

But really, how could she not hate the person responsible for putting her in that situation? For being the reason she saw that?

Her next favor for Veronica would be waiting for the blonde in her inbox come tomorrow morning, ready to melt the insides of her computer.

But even that wouldn't satisfy the need for retribution for what she'd been witness to. 

People open doors every day to perfectly mundane things: their living room, a car, a refrigerator, an advent calendar. When a person opens a door they don't prepare themselves for eye-gouging displays. If people prepared themselves fully for horrors at every turn no one would have any stomach lining left.

But then again, not everyone walks in on Dick Casablancas in bed.

On top of someone.

A female someone.

Naked.

Engaged in what was definitely more than a clothing optional study session.

So maybe it wasn't so much that she hated Veronica, as she wanted to kill her. Perhaps it was time to go out and buy that glittery 'Porn Star' tube top. It would fit so nicely around the blonde P.I's throat.

And who would blame her? Mac couldn't be held responsible for her actions at this point. 

Especially when she couldn't even fool herself in to thinking it had merely been the pre-game show. There had been definite…

Oh, EW.

"You seen Veronica?" she asked, trying her best to sound nonchalant. Piz scanned the crowd of gyrating bodies, completely unaware of the murderous plots being hatched by his rooftop companion.

"Not in a while."

Good, that would give her time to plot the ultimate revenge. The tube top idea was starting to sound pretty good. After she was done disposing of the Mars girl, she could stuff it down Dick Casablancas' throat, because she knew he'd have a lot to say.

She knew this, because he'd seen her.

-

It has all started out so innocent. Dinner, study, play 'catch a rapist'! All in good Neptune-style fun.

If only she'd stayed with Whiskey Boy instead of playing What's Behind Pi Sig Door #1. He hadn't been trying drug her or rape her. He found the fact she had an STD hilarious. So many good qualities in a man. The most important of which was the fact he was not Dick Casablancas. Or, more specifically, he wasn't Dick Casablancas getting his freak on with some random girl in the second bedroom on the right.

And he didn't smirk at her standing in the doorway, the light from the hall catching the sheen of sweat on his shoulders and illuminating all the naughty bits and movements she had no desire to see.

But hindsight is 20/20. Oh, to have a time machine. Oh, to forget the moan she heard as she closed the door and made her hasty retreat.

Oh, if only her drink was more parts alcohol and no parts memory of Dick's naked ass.

Just thinking about it made her feel dirty and antsy.

"I'll be back," Mac shook her empty soda cup, which had become quite sad-looking since its election as the outlet for her frustration. The poor red plastic had seen better days. "Time for some more co-la." Piz gave her a vague nod and continued his perusal of their drunken peers.

-

It wasn't fair. She hadn't even bought the tube top yet. The time wasn't right for this confrontation. Did everything have to go wrong all at once all the time?

Not only are you adopted, but you were switched at birth with Madison Sinclair.

Not only is your boyfriend unable to be intimate with you, he's a murderous psychopathic rapist.

Short answer: yes. 

Otherwise, why would Dick Casablancas be manning the drink station when she had been trying so very hard to avoid him? She'd hid on the roof for crying out loud. Apparently all the time she'd spent up there left his just enough time to zip his pants and stride downstairs. Just in time to make her ever so uncomfortable. It also gave him enough time to perfect that egotistical smirk, not that he didn't have a monopoly on that skill from the moment the devil spawned him.

She could feel her body demanding her to turn away, and as much as she wanted to obey, it wasn't meant to be. He'd seen her again. 

Damn but he had quick reflexes for someone who did his best to dull them with various substances. Not about to back down from the confrontation, and fuel his already over-ripe ego, Mac stepped up to the bar as the last partygoer left.

"Well, well, well," the blonde sneered, his head bobbing from side to side as she approached. Mac wanted to laugh, because really, could someone be more repulsive than Dick Casablancas? And it would have been funny, if she hadn't been on the receiving end.

"Hello, Dick," his name stuck on her teeth as she spat it out. Shouldn't he be off somewhere with his tongue down someone, or thing's, throat?

Dick took a deep breath, basking in the awkward. Looking down at Mac, he furrowed his eyebrows in mock concern.

"What can I get for you: a beer, mixed drink?" he motioned to the various kegs and bottles behind him. "I'm sorry, but we're fresh out of voyeuristic fantasies."

"Voyeuristic?" Mac raised her eyebrows in shock. "That must be some mighty educational porn you've been watching."

"Only the best," Dick shrugged. "But you already know that, I mean you did get a pretty good look."

Mac could have done without the pelvic-thrust-heavy dance moves Dick chose to demonstrate.

"Yes, I will treasure that moment for always," Mac ground out through a nasty smile. "No need to get me anything for Christmas, I'm all set."

"Not that I blame you for sticking around to enjoy the show," Dick spread his hands out in a fantastic display of melodramatic understanding. "We all know your history, or lack thereof, in matters of the flesh."

"I'll take a Coke," Mac cut in. Dick was courteous enough in his role as bartender to reach in to the basin of ice and cans behind him and pull out Mac's beverage as he talked about everything she knew he would bring up.

"You can't blame yourself entirely. You put yourself out there, it didn't work out. It happens. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong partner." Water dropped from his fingertips as he motioned about. Mac calmly held out her hand, waiting for the soda. "Get back in the ring and give it another go. There has to be someone out there for you," Dick winked as he wiped the excess condensation from the can absent-mindedly and passed it across the bar.

"Gee, thanks," Mac replied through clenched teeth. "Great pep talk, coach." Really, her molars would turn to dust if she had to listen to this for another moment. Dick continued to speak, so Mac popped open the top of the soda and started to pour.

"And hey, if not, there are plenty of cats in need of adoption," the blonde sucked in a quick breath. "Oh, but watch out for the smell. Lots of cats, lots of stink. That'll hurt your chances of bagging some equally sad old cat dude."

Mac waited patiently, her head tilted slightly to the left, her eye only twitching the tiniest bit, for Dick to finish his ramblings. At the close of his sentence she thanked him for his insight and promptly threw the contents of her soda in his face.

Deciding to end her night on that high note, she turned, pulled out her cell phone, and dialed Veronica's number.

-

Someone named Veronica needed to pick up their damn phone. 

Mac punched the 'Send' button for the fifth time and sighed heavily as she entered voicemail hell yet again. She could call again or try another approach.

With a heavy heart and queasy stomach she turned to look up at the Pi Sig house.

"Damn it."

She had really been hoping to avoid this by waiting for Veronica outside.

"Come on, Veronica," she whispered, willing the petite blonde to magically appear on the front lawn. No such luck.

A noise that was a mixture of frustration and a call to action spewed from her mouth as Mac forced herself across the grass. She flashed her bracelet to the police officer and re-entered her own private hell. Pushing past several slow-moving drunken classmates, Mac scoured the crowd. Apparently certain party-goers didn't take kindly to being shoved and Mac soon found herself slipping on the beer-coated floor, courtesy of an elbow to the ribcage, and sliding directly into the side of Dick Casablancas.

Shocker.

"You've got to be kidding me," Mac stared in disbelief, her mouth hanging open. Dick looked equally pleased to see her. The front of his shirt was stained brown; that made Mac smile a little.

"Getting a little grabby now, are we?" The lascivious grin had made its return.

Mac's eyeballs nearly rolled completely backwards.

"Yes, I can't keep my hands off you," she sighed. "Oh baby. Oh."

The side of his mouth curled up, and if it was possible to look anymore lecherous than before, he'd accomplished it. Reaching new levels of perv-dom seemed to be Dick Casablancas' specialty. Luckily before anything too revolting could spew from his gullet, a curly haired brunette promptly latched herself on to his person.

"Where'd you go? I missed you," she whined, alcohol slurring her words. The pout pretty much made Mac want to barf, but Dick didn't seem to mind the breasts pressed against his side nor the roaming hands. "Ew, your shirt's all sticky."

Was Mac not supposed to laugh at that? Dick glared. The girl looked confused.

"I went to get drinks," Dick made a recovery, the grin sliding back in to place, and winked at his new companion. He offered up a plastic cup to the girl who proceeded to show her appreciation by trying to remove his tonsils through the power of her own breath.

Really, if Mac died at that very moment and was sent to hell, she probably wouldn't even notice.

"Have you seen Veronica?" Mac shouted. The girl looked fairly put out as she retracted her tongue from the frat boy's throat and turned a glazy stare on Mac.

"Funny shirt."

Mac was pretty sure the girl wasn't amused.

"Dick, who's your friend?"

Dick nearly choked on the sip he was taking, so Mac answered for him.

"I'm not his friend."

"She's not my friend."

The drunken gaze was back on her. Mac could practically see the hamster on its little wheel working up a storm as the tonsil-sucker processed the information. From what she could decipher in the transparent expressions she saw, the girl did not consider Mac a threat.

Well, duh.

"Whatever," she shrugged and turned back to Dick. "I'm going back upstairs. Don't be too long." A quick peck and pelvic grind and the girl was gone as quickly as she appeared.

"Charming creature," Mac commented as Dick admired the retreating figure. She reached up and snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Hey, have you seen Veronica?"

"Huh? No, not for a while."

"Thanks," Mac spit out. She turned to walk away but felt Dick's fingers wrap around her upper arm. Her eyebrows furrowed as he took a step towards her. Dick Casablancas was most definitely in her personal bubble. Mac pivoted, bringing the shoulder closest to him a step further away, but he kept hold of her arm.

"Where are you going?" he asked and Mac wished she could decipher the emotion behind the words. He must be drunker than she thought, but the question seemed completely lucid. It seemed almost innocent, and Dick Casablancas was not known for innocent

"To find Ver-o-ni-ca," her eyes wide as she sounded it out for him. This was decidedly uncomfortable.

"Oh, but Ghost World, didn't you hear?" he took a step closer, still keeping a firm grip on her bicep.

"Hear what?" Mac frowned, she hated that name and she hated how tall he was. He smiled that shit-eating grin and lowered his head, his blue eyes focused on her. Mac felt every muscle in her body lock up; she was frozen and very, very confused.

"Your favorite program is on," Dick tossed his head in the general direction of the stairs. "Follow me for the encore performance I know you're dying to see."

Mac quickly yanked her arm out of his grip and took a step back.

"You're twisted, Dick."

"That's the way you like it though, right?" he laughed and shrugged. "Why else would you want to screw my brother?"


	2. Chapter 2

Revenge went out the window the moment Mac got the call from Wallace. She'd never found Veronica after she left Dick. And Veronica had never answered her phone, but she had a very good reason for not having done so.

Mac felt like absolute crap as Veronica debriefed everyone the next morning. Absolute, selfish crap.

As Veronica had shooed them gently, but efficiently, out of the small apartment, turning down all offers for companionship, Mac had really wanted to apologize. But why bring it up? Veronica didn't know Mac had caught Dick in various mating rituals. She didn't know Mac had been nurturing a healthy grudge while Veronica had fended off rapists with a unicorn.

"I'm fine," Vernoica shook her head. "I'm fine, trust me. I just…" And she trailed off, staring at the door jam. Mac shared a meaningful look with Wallace.

"I saw that," the blonde narrowed her eyes, a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. "I'll see you guys tomorrow." And the door closed with another "I'm fine" accompanying it, containing just enough humor to put Mac's biggest worries at rest.

Wallace muttered something about homework and studying, and Piz muttered a very good impression of his roommate and followed him down the steps of the complex. Mac wanted to laugh, but couldn't bring herself to it. Now she was alone and not quite sure what to do with herself.

-

How someone goes from not knowing what to do to visiting the scene of her ex-boyfriend's suicide is not as interesting as one might hope. Initially Mac had set out for coffee, hoping to spit out a coding assignment over a couple cups of java, but she got sidetracked.

The sun bounced off the windows and metal accents of the Neptune Grand, making it nearly impossible to miss as she drove down the road. Normally she had no trouble ignoring it, willing it out of her consciousness, but today she couldn't look away. Maybe it was the fact she felt so guilty for so many things, or that she'd run in to Dick recently, or that she was simply finally ready.

The building pulled attention away from everything else in the area. So many clean, architectural lines for such a seedy, awful place.

Coffee forgotten, Mac found herself standing on the sidewalk staring straight up the exterior wall of the hotel. The sun hurt her eyes, and the height made her head spin a bit. But she couldn't help but trace the sharp line the dark silhouette of the roof made against the sky.

"Twelve."

Mac jumped at the voice behind her. She spun around quickly, her hand flying into action and wiping away the tears drawn by the sun.

Great.

"What do you want Dick."

"Nothing from you."

"That's works out well then."

She started back down the sidewalk to her car

"I figured there should have been thirteen."

Mac turned to stare at him dumbly. His hair was too long. It had crossed the line from 'strategically un-groomed' to 'homeless.' The wrinkled clothes and worn sneakers certainly didn't help the look.

"Floors," he replied, exasperated, and pointed heavenward, his fist clutching a brown paper bag from the liquor store a block away. Mac looked back up at the top of the building, her eyes stung, but not from the sunlight.

"There are," she finally replied. The silence stretched out for a moment and she heard the paper bag crinkle underneath his fingers. "The roof makes thirteen."

Mac watched Dick watch the sky and wondered for a moment what he was thinking about. She quickly thought better about it and headed for her car. This time he didn't stop her.

-

She drove by, she walked by, she parked in front of, and she stared at that damn hotel for weeks. She didn't think about graduation night every time, because that might have driven her insane. She did think about him, a lot, both the good and the bad.

The first time Dick saw her he nearly tripped on the sidewalk doing a double take. Mac had learned to appreciate the times that the universe aligned in her favor, they were so far and few between. Most likely, Dick didn't feel the same way, if the scowl on his face was any indication.

The second time, he stared her down as he passed the car. She sat frozen, frappucino straw between her lips, and watched him walk by. There was no nod of acknowledgement, no smile or frown. He just looked at her and Mac found herself staring right back. It was over in seconds flat and Dick was entering the hotel, 24-pack in hand.

The third time she nearly wet her pants. But that's how most people would react if someone snuck up from behind and jumped in to the passenger seat. Mac made a note not to listen to her iPod while parked in the spot where her boyfriend plummeted to his death.

"What are you doing?"

"Waiting for you to leave," she responded, not taking her eyes off the façade of the building. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dick open the glove compartment and pull out her CD binder. It took all her will not to slap his hand and take back her music. It was childish and she was above it. Plus, Dick would have construed it as her hitting on him and that would only lead to bad things. Ignore him and he'll go away, Mac reminded herself as she continued to stare straight ahead.

"I figured you'd be happy," Dick shrugged, and flipped a page in the binder. "Having me in your car will make stalking me so much easier."

"What?" she had to turn and face him at that. "What are you talking about?"

Dick looked over at her, his blue eyes wide and unassuming.

"Hanging around my buddy's hotel, watching me on the street, following me to parties," he breezily listed each item, punctuating them each with a turn of the page. "Spying on me whilst I make sweet, sweet love-."

"Let it go," Mac frowned and reached over to snatch her CDs out of his clutches.

"Stealing locks of my hair-."

"What?" Mac shrieked, surprising herself that she could make such a high pitched noise.

"Oh yeah, sorry, the spying was an 'accident'."

Sometimes Mac really hated the use of air quotes.

"I'm not stalking you, idiot," she looked at him pointedly. "Now get out of my car."

"Then why are you here?" Dick turned to face her, settling his frame against the door of her car. Mac pursed her lips and glowered at the passenger.

"Get out of my car."

"Why. Are. You. Here? Simple question," Dick waved a hand in the air, beckoning her to answer. Not quite knowing what to do with herself, Mac reached over, opened the glove compartment, shoved the CD case back inside, and slammed it. She would have liked to open and slam it again, but instead settled for leaning back against her door and returning Dick's steady gaze. He continued to sit calmly, eyebrows raised as he waited for her reply.

Mac fidgeted in her seat and looked out her windshield. There stood the Neptune Grand, the same as it ever was. A heavy sigh escaped her lips and she turned back to Dick. He hadn't moved, but the corners of his mouth were slightly turned up. Mac looked up at the roof.

"You know why," she finally said softly, crossing her arms in front of her. Dick was silent for a moment and she considered the possibility that he might remain so, and then leave. That would be nice.

Then he laughed.

"Dude, you're pretty damn morbid."

Really, the surfer voice? Completely obnoxioius.

"You're pretty damn annoying," Mac snarled. "Now get out of my car."

-

Apparently one 50 keg bacchanalia a year wasn't enough for the Pi Sigs.

And apparently Mac was still all too willing to help Veronica out despite her very well-honed instincts. Although, when someone offers to double the RAM on your laptop with the earnings from the job, it's hard to refuse.

Someone was eating well this week!

The longer she stood in the front lawn staring at the towering greek letters, however, the more Mac questioned the logic behind her actions. Did she really need any computer upgrades?

Yes.

Damn it.

She muscled her way through the crowd of smokers on the front stoop, keeping an eye on the baseball cap clad head a few yards ahead. Surprisingly, or not, depending on how much a pessimist you are (which was a healthy dose in Mac's case), it would have been a compliment to call the security at Pi Sig party 'lax.' A drunk, horny frat brother took roughly half a second to check her id, or at least check that she possessed a small piece of white plastic with a picture, before returning to the scantily-dressed blonde beside him.

Mac took a moment to text her location back to Veronica. She had left with specific instructions to check in every half hour. The blonde was hyper sensitive to people's locations since the last Pi Sig blow-out. They were across town from the guy's apartment. That left Veronica plenty of time to search it for whatever information it was she needed. Mac had lost track of all the cases the P.I. had. While the break-up had left her hurt, not that Veronica would ever discuss that, it had also kicked her in to overdrive. She needed projects; that's how she coped. That, of course, meant that everyone else became involved in the coping-related jobs.

It seemed a cruel joke that her assigned tail would decide to spend the evening within the walls of Hearst's most notorious greek organization. Why couldn't he have gone to a movie? Or a book store? Even an adult bookstore would have been better than this.

Oh look, they actually did hump the furniture at Pi Sig parties. Wonderful.

After maneuvering around the bar stool rape with minimal incident, Mac set up a safe distance from her tail. Joe, or Jack (Mac wasn't quite sure of his name, but it didn't really matter. She knew he wore a Yankees hat and drove a green Ford; and that's all that's important when you're following someone) seemed relatively stationary for the time being. He'd been recruited to join a team for Flip Cup: the sport of champions. And while watching college boys make fools of themselves is humorous, the game was rather repetitive, and only really amusing if the observer is also intoxicated.

Sobriety didn't seem to be a problem for any of the other party attendees. The crowd wasn't quite half the size of the last gala event, but the total alcohol consumed appeared to have surpassed all previous records. Everyone was pretty much trashed. Great.

It was at that point that two arms wrapped around Mac's torso, one creeping up to cup a breast, the other sliding down to rest securely between her legs. Mac barely had time to register the touch and gasp before her assaulter pulled her back against his strong frame. Then his lips were on her neck, a kiss, a lick, and Mac was squirming to get free. She pried at his arms fruitlessly.

"Bonnie, don't be like that," he whispered in her ear and pressed his hand more firmly against her crotch, pulling her tightly against his pelvis. Mac's eyes flew open. She recognized the voice, and the fact her ass was pressed snugly against a certain excited part of the male anatomy.

"Dick, let me go!"

His mouth finally left her neck and he peered around to look at her face, confused. Mac turned her head, features frozen in shock. "Any day now."

He released her like she'd set his hands on fire, which really was a bit of an over-reaction. Getting shoved away rather unceremoniously was not a big boost to her confidence.

"What the hell?" Dick demanded. He looked around the room frantically, as though Mac had just fallen out of the sky.

"You're yelling at me?!"

"You're not Bonnie," he pointed and waggled his finger. "You're… you."

Female? yes. Brown, curly hair? Yes. Trashy whore? Not so much.

"Um, no," she shook her head once, irritated at him stating the obvious, and very disconcerted by the fact he had just felt her up. She pulled nervously on the hem of her shirt, not quite sure how to behave.

"No offense, Ghost World," he smirked and wavered slightly side-to-side. Oh, he was very drunk, indeed. "You're just not my type."

"Pity, I think I'll go cry myself to- No, wait, I'm better."

"I like my girls with a bit more," he held up his hand and squeezed the air. "If you know what I mean."

"Amazingly enough, I was able to read between the lines."

-

It was nearly a month after running into Dick in front of the hotel before Mac was able to walk through the front doors of the Neptune Grand. She could have put it off longer, waited for Veronica outside, but enough was enough.

Walking in was surprisingly easy. She had thought about that night so much, thought about how she should have known, how she should have stopped it, that for a while merely thinking about the place made her sick. But after all that build-up she just put her head down and plowed on through. Fingertips working nervously against her palms, she surveyed the room, trying to ignore the slight turn of her stomach.The lobby was well-decorated, designed to please the wealthy clientele, but it left Mac feeling cold. It was all too perfect, too clean, too well-lit.

Next step, the elevator. Push the button, wait. She squeezed her thumbs impatiently as the number lit slowly descended. It paused on a floor, the floor above the one Veronica had found her in six months ago. She glanced around, hoping to see her friend waiting in the lobby, ready to leave.

The elevator dinged, causing Mac to jump slightly at the rough noise it made as it opened. Hoping no one noticed, she took a deep breath and stepped inside. Memories of the last time she was in the elevator with him played out in her mind: how gently he held her hand, how he smiled, and how damn happy she had been.And though she knew it was silly, a part of her wondered what would happen if his ghost appeared. She missed him terribly, but didn't think she could ever see him again. Thankfully, no supernatural events transpired, and she reached the penthouse floor without incident.

Ahead was the door to Logan's suite. Inside waited Veronica with her "we're not dating we're just spending time together" friend. Though Mac was fairly certain the majority of the 'time' together was spent engaging in activities not suitable for a family friendly film.

Down the hall was another door. The little stick running on the jagged line that indicated the staircase. Down to the exit and up to the roof. It was a slow, jerky walk over to the door. A journey that involved lots of pausing and looking back, not quite sure what she was doing or why she was doing it. What she really wanted was to get Veronica and leave this awful place. She hated the carpet on the floor and the wallpaper and the lighting. She just wanted to get the hell out, but she also wanted to go up there. And if she didn't do it now, when would she?

So she turned the doorknob and entered the stairwell. The scuffing noise of her sneakers on the cement stairs echoed down the shaft as she slowly walked up. She swallowed hard, her throat having gone completely dry, but the spit stuck, making her gasp for breath. Her hand fell on the roof access door, completely expecting it to be locked. But the metal lever turned easily under her grasp, letting the sun illuminate the dreary, fluorescent lit staircase.

One more deep, calming breath and Mac stepped out on to the roof. It was flat and big, random pipes and electrical access boxes dotted the surface. Everything completely forgettable if she had been able to forget what happened. She thanked her lucky stars she hadn't been there to see it. Simply knowing what happened was almost more than she could handle.

Even now she recognized the side of the building where he had jumped, the wall and railing completely discreet. Her eyes burned from the bright California sun and the need for something to look wrong. It all looked so damned normal.

A thumping noise reached her ears, dull but steady. Mac followed it around the raised skylight, frightened, but curious as to what lay waiting around the corner. If his ghost was going to haunt any place, it would be here.

Mac couldn't decide if she was relieved or disappointed when she found Dick Casablancas slouched against the skylight, bouncing a rubber ball off the half wall lining the roof.

He caught the ball silently before facing her. His head rolled along the glass and he blinked slowly, looking her up and down, but completely disinterested in her presence. A smack of the lips, a sigh, and he returned to throwing the ball.

"What can I do you for?"

She regarded him for a moment out of the corner of her eye, brows furrowed. Apparently he was alone, though the beer cans and nearly empty bottle of vodka spoke to a much larger crowd. Crossing her arms in front of her torso, Mac searched furiously for something to say.

"How'd you get up here?"

That sounded intelligent.

Dick paused the bouncing, resting his forearms on his knees, and turned back to face her. "Well, you see," he drew his mouth in to a thin line of concentration as he narrowed his eyes slyly . "There are these stairs, that lead to that door right over there. What you got to do is turn the knob and push." 

"How'd you unlock the door, dumbass?"

"Oh that," Dick threw his head back and smiled. "A magician never reveals his secrets." With that he wiggled his fingers in her direction, eyes wide, before reaching down for the vodka bottle and taking a drink.

"Dick," Mac sighed heavily. "It's a simple question. You're a simple person. Answer it."

"Don't get your panties in a twist," Dick snarled and took another healthy sip. After settling back into his spot against the raised skylight he put the bottle back down and continued bouncing the ball. "I bought a copy of the key from one of the maintenance guys."

Throw. Bounce off the roof. Hit the wall. Catch. Repeat.

Mac watched silently for a long stretch, wanting to leave, but wanting to stay just as much. It was simple and easy: throw, bounce, hit, catch. She liked the rhythm, but it was Dick, so it was strange. Her brain couldn't compute what he was doing here, or even why she was. There was no point to any of it. Being here wouldn't bring him back. It wouldn't change what he did. It certainly didn't do any good for Dick of all people to be here. What had he done besides make things worse?

"Why are you here?" she asked, surprising herself with the harsh tone in her voice.

Dick paused again and looked back at her. She couldn't really make out his face as his head was slightly bent and his hair was still too damn long. The boy needed to buy a brush.

"Getting drunk," he spat back. "Why are you here?"

She didn't know, so she didn't answer. He sneered and picked the vodka back up. Slowly, and unsteadily, he lifted himself to his feet.

"Why are you here?" he asked again, his words long and stretched out, as he approached her. Mac's frown deepened as Dick neared her, his head tilted mockingly to the side.

She wanted to hit him, very hard, at that moment. Hit him and wipe that smartass look off his face.

She also wanted to cry. Her body was shaking and she was trying to subdue it and she prayed to the powers-that-be that he not notice. More than anything she didn't want him to see her cry.

He was close now, hovering directly in front of her, and she had to bite the insides of her cheeks. She had to stop the tears and block up the sobs, so she stared him down, pushing all her anger and fear out in her gaze. Because she couldn't move, if she dropped her arms or shuffled her feet, she was going to fall apart.

Dick stuck out his bottom lip and tilted his head to the other side.

"Aww, what's wrong?" he asked in a hideously sweet voice.

Don't cry.

"Did someone's boyfriend ditch them on the big night?" Dick asked. Mac dug her fingernails in to her upper-arms, resisting the urge to flee, or strike, or something equally hysterical.

"Oh no," Dick put a hand to his mouth in a poor display of shock. "Did someone's boyfriend forget where the floor ended? Did someone's boyfriend do a nose dive into the pavement?"

"You're awful, Dick," Mac finally managed to say, completely horrified at how much of a pig he could be. "How can you talk like that?"

"I have an idea!" a bright smile lit up his voice. Dick placed the vodka bottle back down on the ground and clapped his hands together. "Let's go have a look."

"A look at what?" 

"Where he jumped, of course!"

Mac took a step back. "I don't think so."

"Yeah, right. Why else would you be up here?" Dick rolled his eyes. "What else do you have to do besides go home and cut yourself? Come on."

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward. Too shocked to react initially, Mac stumbled after Dick as he took the first couple of strides across the roof. Finally able to get her footing, Mac took a stance and wrenched her arm out of his grasp.

"Not interested," she said sternly. Allowing him no time to respond she quickly turned and headed towards the staircase. A split second later and his arms were wrapped around her. Not nearly as intimate as the last time he embraced her, now she found her arms pinned to her sides as he walked her across the roof. "Let me go, Dick!"

"I'm just trying to show you something," he answered between breaths as he yanked her one step at a time to the desired location.

"Dick!" she shrieked, panic filling her system as they neared the edge of the roof. Her heart had jumped in to her throat and taken up temporary lodging there as she tried to wiggle her way out of the drunk's grasp. But he was strong, and had a solid grip. She could hardly move her upper body as she was forced to walk along with him or simply let her legs drag along the cement.

"Here we are," Dick smiled grandly and let go with one hand while wrapped the other around her shoulders. Mac saw the edge of the roof and the street many, many stories below for a half second before she spun away from Dick. But he was on her, winding his arms back around her. "Not so fast, Ghost World. Take a good look."

And there Mac stood, Dick holding her tightly against him, directly above the spot his brother had jumped to his death. She could feel his breath hot on her neck while she stared down at the parking spot where the body landed.

"Everything is pretty different from this angle, wouldn't you say?" Dick asked, and slowly leaned forward, forcing Mac's torso to bend with his. She lost sight of the roof and railing, all that lay before her was cement, very distant cement.

There really wasn't any stopping the tears this time. They arrived and fell steadily from her red, weary eyes. She gasped for a deep breath, worn from her battle with Dick and the fact his arms were wound so tight. Pressing just as heavily on her chest was the memory of the last boy she loved.

All she could do was stare at the pavement and cry.

"You're pathetic," Dick muttered and let her go. Mac crumpled to her knees and wept, not even noticing when Dick left the roof.


End file.
